129 – Courier

Death arrived
One sunny Friday morning
Carrying a luxurious bag
Made of empty promises,
Glorified used-car salesmen
And half-truths.

Embroidered with fake riches,
To dazzle and deceive.

Its entourage a carnival
Of self-affirming egos,
Blindly chasing their own tails.
Deaf to everything but the sound
Of their own cheering.

Lost in the crowd of willing mice,
A few scattered, open eyes
Stared in impotence and horror.
As the package was delivered
Right on cue.

Despair and doom,
Wrapped in bright colors
And self-congratulating speeches.
Topped with a sad bow
Of what could have been.

They were the ones who knew
The world was ending
Just the way the poet
Had described.

Not with a merciful quick bang,
But with a long, deafening whimper.